Just Like Daddy
by Xirysa
Summary: Oh, how right it sounded! Father and son, alike in so many ways, to depart the earth in similar fashion! Perhaps it was only fitting that it was their hearts that had killed them...


**Xirysa Says:** This is based on true events that happened this weekend. I hope it is somewhat enjoyable.

_I would like to dedicate this 'to my dance teacher, who is one of the most important and influential people in my life, and to fathers everywhere. I hope and pray that everything goes alright for you, Auntie. _

* * *

Just Like Daddy

Lying on a moth-eaten mattress near a small church in Paris, André Grandier sees something—or rather, someone—hovering by his beloved and the doctors surrounding them as he runs between the light and dark. It is a face. A familiar face, he realizes.

Tanned, framed by dark hair and deep green eyes—his eyes? No, not his. This person can see with both eyes. Could it possibly be him?

"_Father…?"_ André's mind whispers as it fades to black. He knows he is going, and all he wants to see the face of the golden-haired goddess who had become his wife. Yet why did the memory his father, who had left this earth so many years ago, come to mind at this moment?

He was just like his father, his grandmother had told him one day when he was younger. The same eyes, the same hair, the same lips, the same nose… Everything, it seemed. But what was it that brought the faded image to mind? Ah, it could only be that.

André smiles despite the growing pain in his chest. Yes, that was it. How right it sounded! Father and son, alike in so many ways, to depart the earth in similar fashion!

Perhaps it was fitting it was their hearts that killed them.

How old had he been that day? It seemed so long ago… Oh, yes. He had been almost five years old then. That would put the date almost… No, wait. _Exactly_ thirty one years ago, on this very day, he realizes with a start. The thirteenth day of July. Five months to the day since the death of his mother.

But how was he, a mere child, supposed to know that? His mother had passed on after giving birth to a babe that didn't even survive past its first hour of life. André didn't know that. He had thought, in the manner that small children did, that his mother had merely gone on an extended trip to visit her mother with the new baby. Nothing more. Only when he saw his father cry at night did he realize she wasn't coming back.

André remembers that day as if it were yesterday. They had reached the cemetery at noon that day to pay their respects. His father had been clutching at his chest. When André had asked about it, what was it that his father had said?

"_My heart aches for your mother, André. I miss her very much."_

They had left an hour later, young André bouncing gleefully upon his father's broad shoulders. But what had happened next?

André muffles a groan as a surgeon wipes the blood away from the wound. _It hurts, it hurts—oh, Oscar!—it hurts…_

He remembers now. His father had stumbled, taking André with him. They had fallen down, little André being crushed by his father's weight. How had he gotten free from the suffocating pressure? He vaguely remembers a woman—another maid, perhaps?—lifting André and shrieking for a doctor.

They told André that his father's heart had given out—the child new it was because his father wanted to join his mother again. But he didn't mind. He knew that he'd see them again soon. And, oh! Oh, yes. Very soon, indeed.

His world his black now, he notices. Silent, too. He feels the smile curling on his lips as an angel murmurs something into his ear. But everything is fading now, going slowly, fading to black.

But who is that, standing by the small cottage he spent the first years of his life in? Ah, of course. It is them. He turns back to the crowd around him, smiling to himself despite the tears.

_I'm sorry I have to leave you, Oscar. But I have to go now._

_Just like Daddy did._

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**Xirysa Says:** This has been a very emotional weekend for me—the 'fic was mostly my way of dealing with the pain (which would explain the crappiness of it all). I know it sounds odd mourning for my dance teacher's father, of all people, but… My teacher is probably the person I respect the most in the world. I wouldn't be the person I am today without her guidance. For all the years I've known her, she has guided me through thick and thin. I think it's time that I return the favor. Tense change was intentional. Please let me know what you think of this. There is some symbolism, but it's mostly for my sake. Just thought I'd mention that, too.


End file.
